


come run away with me

by tonystarktrash



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Feelings Realization, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Iron Man 2 Compliant, Light Angst, Meeting the Parents, Mutual Pining, Palladium Poisoning, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark Friendship, Pre-Iron Man 2, Pre-Relationship, Protective Pepper Potts, Smoking, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but also..., tony stark is terrified of pepper's father lmao but he's a nice GUY I PROMISE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 17:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarktrash/pseuds/tonystarktrash
Summary: “You’re freaking me out, Potts,” Tony tells her seriously, watching as she bites at her bottom lip, white teeth now stained with a faint smear of red lipstick.“I was wondering if you wanted to spend this weekend with me at my parents’?” The words come out of her in a rush, her hands curling into fists, resting tensely on her lap.wherein tony stark finds himself spending the night in pepper potts' childhood bedroom.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 32





	come run away with me

Tony sets the pen down carefully, staring at his swooping signature just above the line, black ink shining wetly on the thick paper. This is just the first step, of course, but it feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. In a matter of weeks, Pepper Potts will be the CEO of Stark Industries, and he will be...

Tony frowns, reaching up to rub at his forehead, a headache settling in at the back of his eye sockets. Meanwhile, somewhere deep in his brain, there are a few considerate individuals swinging very sharp pickaxes.

Thunderclap headaches, one of the first symptoms he had experienced, before he had taken samples of his blood and analyzed them, before thin black lines had snaked their way across his chest, radiating outwards from the arc reactor. After the first time, driven to his knees in his workshop, his hands clutching at his head as J.A.R.V.I.S. dutifully turned off all of the lights, Tony had merely assumed he was very dehydrated. After all, he had only been drinking black coffee or tequila in equal measure that week. Laying off the hard stuff for a few days, impressing Pepper with his committed effort to drink water and eat healthy, Tony had almost forgotten about the headache, and then he had collapsed in the shower. He couldn’t have lost consciousness for longer than a few seconds, but when he had come to, choking on water as it streamed into his mouth, his head pounding, his first thought had been that he was back in the cave in Afghanistan, that he had taken one too many blows to the head and now his brain was herniating.

Curled up naked and shivering on the bathmat, Tony had known that there was no way these headaches were occurring because he was dehydrated.

Six months, tops. That’s all the time he has left, and even that isn’t certain. There aren’t any documented cases of palladium poisoning he can refer to. All he has to go on are the cases of those unlucky individuals that had died after having been exposed to, or God forbid, ingesting radioactive elements. He wasn’t looking forward to his teeth falling out.

Closing his eyes, he reaches into the second drawer of his desk, fumbling inside for a prescription bottle. He hadn’t exactly gone to the doctor to get this prescription, but a few phone calls had gotten him an essentially endless supply of Vicodin. When the time comes, he’ll get on the phone and get himself a deadly dose of morphine, so that he can float off. But not yet, not until he’s certain that everything is arranged. He needs to know that Rhodey will take on the mantle of Iron Man, and he needs to know that Pepper will not resent him for making her CEO. That one will be a tricky needle to thread, because he doesn’t want to tell Pepper that he’s dying.

Telling Pepper that he’s dying will destroy everything that they’ve been inching towards, the fragile romance that they each have been contributing components to. There had been the kiss under the mistletoe two years ago, the dance at the gala, the near kiss on the balcony, the longing stares, the genuine compliments, the lingering press of his hand against the small of her back, the brush of her fingers down the front of his tie. If he tells her the truth, all of that — he can’t call it love, because he doesn’t know if that’s what _she_ feels — all of **it** will be replaced with cloying pity.

The door to his office squeaks, an alarmingly loud sound that makes him wince and press his hand harder against his forehead, brown eyes squinting over at the door as it swings open. Speak of the devil.

Pepper Potts stands in the entryway, her head down, auburn hair framing her face in soft waves as she types quickly on her cellphone. Tony uses this rare opportunity of her being distracted to quickly button up the three buttons of his shirt he had undone earlier, unable to resist the wheedling voice at the back of his head urging him to take a look at the spread of poison just under his skin. Pepper glances up at him, green eyes sharp, and he attempts to be casual, his fingers now toying with his collar as if he had just been straightening it.

“Mr. Stark.”

“Ms. Potts,” Tony tilts his head, index finger pressing against the paper, slowly pushing it into the folder that he needs to take to Legal before the day is done.

“I wanted to run something by you.” Pepper shuts the door firmly behind her, her red fingernails vivid against the dark oak.

“Uh oh. That’s not a good sign. You’ve been faking my signature for years... Do you need me to speak to someone? It’s true, your Tony Stark impersonation needs some work.”

Pepper flushes, Tony watches with interest as the skin of her neck and cheeks goes faintly pink. In her distractingly form-fitting white dress, she looks like a candy — something fruit flavored — orange, strawberry, and coconut. His eyes dart down for a millisecond, drawn to her cleavage, but really, he’s only following the trail of her blush...

“I...” Pepper advances towards him, heels clicking against the floor, soon muffled by the thick rug his desk sits upon. She exhales, a few strands of her hair billow out, and sits down at the chair in front of his desk with a sense of foreboding finality.

“You’re freaking me out, Potts,” Tony tells her seriously, watching as she bites at her bottom lip, white teeth now stained with a faint smear of red lipstick.

“I was wondering if you wanted to spend this weekend with me at my parents’?” The words come out of her in a rush, her hands curling into fists, resting tensely on her lap.

“I’m sorry?” _What the actual fuck._

“Well, I know you... Probably have Iron Man stuff to do, or whatever.” Pepper keeps the derision out of her voice, but she hadn’t been nearly as enthused as Tony had been when Iron Man had gotten the cover of _Time_ , _Vanity Fair_ , and _Vogue_ all in the past six months. She also hasn’t enjoyed holding pieces of gauze against shallow cuts riddling his body, gagging at the feeling of his blood hot against her palms. He always tells her that he can patch himself up, but she never lets him. Somehow, she’s always at his house when he gets home from a mission (he has a feeling she checks in with J.A.R.V.I.S. for updates on his ETA) armed with a first aid kit, an empty stomach, and a grim expression.

“I don’t, actually.” Tony replies, leaning back in his chair as he looks at her, she’s still worrying her bottom lip.

“I just thought maybe you could use a break,” Pepper says slowly, unable to stand the silence, though it had only lasted ten seconds.

“Where do your parents live?” Tony reaches into his pocket, pulling out his cellphone.

Pepper clears her throat. “I... You know what, Tony? Forget it.”

“What?” Tony looks up at her sharply, his calendar app open on his screen.

“It was stupid,” Pepper says as she gets to her feet. “It was stupid, and unprofessional, and —.”

“Pepper, we’re friends, right?”

She pauses, considering this, and really, the fact that she has to think about her answer hurts.

“Yes, I suppose we are...”

“God, Potts, you made that sound like someone was pulling your teeth out. I’m only asking for more details because I have to be in New York tomorrow afternoon.”

Pepper, now hovering behind the chair, looks at him in confusion.

“It’s not for work stuff,” he says quickly, glancing down at the event in his calendar — APPT. WITH DR. CEVERIS — a last ditch effort, a possibility for his diagnosis to go public (though Tony will pay the man handsomely for this off-the-books Saturday appointment), and, no doubt, a professional confirmation of his death sentence.

Pepper nods, she won’t pry, it’s why their working relationship is as strong as it is. Tony’s personal business is his business, except when he drags her into it.

“Expo stuff,” Tony says, unable to stop himself from lying further, wanting to build up a stronger alibi.

“Oh, God,” Pepper groans.

“What?” Tony picks his tie up from the desk, fingers brushing slowly against the red silk. “Why’d you react like that?”

“Tony...” Pepper grabs the back of the chair, fingernails tapping against the leather. “I — well... When you sent that memo, I didn’t think you were serious. Don’t you think the Stark Expo, in this day and age, with Iron Man and everything...Don’t you think it’s a little...” Pepper pauses, searching for the right word. Her green eyes narrow, holding his gaze, lips pressing together. “Masturbatory?”

Tony snorts, looking away from her. Her fingernails continue to tap against the leather, and when she doesn’t say anything else, he looks back at her.

“You’re serious?”

Pepper tilts her head. “Honestly? Yes. It’s not the 50s anymore, Tony. You’re not your father.”

Tony’s jaw tightens, Pepper’s fingers still.

“Thank you for that reminder,” he says curtly.

The Stark Expo is supposed to be his big send-off, a funeral for himself that he can actually attend while alive. Yes, it will have a bit of showmanship. He’s Tony Stark, how could it not? But it’s really supposed to be a celebration of all of the things that Stark Industries has accomplished since giving up weapons manufacturing — with maybe a few callbacks to his father, for legacy’s sake. Had he known that Pepper thought it was _masturbatory_ , Tony probably would’ve reconsidered.

Pepper, meanwhile, looks as though she’s having a meltdown. Her cheeks are bright pink, lips slightly parted. She extends one hand out to him, as if to pat him on the back or grasp his shoulder, but all she ends up clutching is the air.

“Tony, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, you know I didn’t.”

“Forget about it, Pepper,” Tony replies, getting to his feet. He picks up the folder, glancing at his watch. He might as well call it a day, the headache has now been reduced to a dull roar, but he’d rather be in pain in bed than at the office.

“No, Tony, I’m sorry.” Pepper brushes a hand over her face, regaining her composure. “I’m sorry, this conversation has kind of gone off the rails. I don’t think the Expo is masturbatory, really, I just… You and I haven’t discussed it, so…”

_All this trouble over a fictitious meeting I’m having concerning the Expo. Christ._

Tony shrugs, tucking the folder under his arm, his fingers nimbly drawing his tie into a Windsor knot. “Water under the bridge, Potts.”

There’s a pause. Pepper steps back from the desk, watching as Tony starts to walk towards the door.

“About… the invitation to my parents’…”

“Yes, let’s talk about that.” Tony turns, his hand on the doorhandle, one eyebrow raised. “Why?”

Green eyes stare into brown, Pepper holds her head a little higher, her expressions serious.

“When’s the last time you ate something that didn’t come out of a box?”

Tony hums, leaning back against the door as he thinks over the meals he’s eaten in the past 48 hours. Then the past 72. He frowns, fingers drumming against the metal handle.

“I just think, you know… You could do with a break, with the Senate hearing coming up —.”

“I’m not going unless they subpoena me,” Tony interjects, but Pepper merely rolls her eyes and continues.

“And we’ve known each other for years, but you’ve never met my parents… I thought maybe you’d appreciate some…” Pepper falters. “Family time?”

“Tell you what, Potts. Meet me at the airport in…” He glances at his watch again, wondering how long it will take him to pack an overnight bag. What does one _wear_ to meet the parents of your personal assistant slash love interest slash close friend slash star of many a fantasy? “Meet me at 12:30, we can take the jet. You’ve run this by them already, right?”

Pepper nods quickly, too quickly — _Well, hopefully Mom and Dad don’t mind having guests._

“You’re sure you want me to meet them?” Tony cocks his head, brown eyes uncertain. “I’m not exactly…” _boyfriend material_ “… Well, you know. I have a lot of baggage.”

Pepper smiles slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. Tony swallows and ignores the compelling urge to kiss her. _God, she’s adorable._

“You’re a superhero, Tony. Anyone would want to bring you home to meet their parents.”

Tony tips his head back and laughs, a sudden, loud, and joyful sound. Pepper smiles. Lately Tony has been so… reserved.

“God, Pepper, you really should’ve gone into comedy. Wheels up at 12:30, don’t be late,” Tony shoulders open the door and darts out into the hallway, heart pounding. He nearly drops the file full of paperwork that’s shoved under his arm, grabbing it out of the air just in time. The last thing he needs is for an intern to scurry over and help him, only to discover that Pepper Potts is soon to be their new boss.

* * *

The engines of the jet are a quiet rumble, Pepper could almost drift off to sleep were it not for the fact that she is overthinking everything. What had possessed her to invite Tony to come with her to see her parents? What had possessed Tony to say _yes_? He had agreed without even knowing where her parents lived, though she had seen the relief in his eyes when she’d told the pilot to land in D.C. It would be a quick trip to New York for Tony, and lately, he seems to be all about shortcuts.

Pepper looks over at him where he’s sat across the aisle from her. His head is drifting down towards his shoulder, his intermittent snores louder than the engines, eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids. She had invited him because she is worried about him, that’s the truth. There is something he’s not telling her, something important, something that’s made him lose sleep, lose weight. He’s drawn and pale, and when she was at the mansion last week, she had noticed a bottle of pills on the kitchen counter. Tony had been down in the workshop, and normally Pepper wouldn’t nose around, but the bottle had been knocked horizontal on the counter, likely by Tony’s errant hand, so she had reached out to stand it back up. A prescription for Vicodin.

In the old days, when Pepper had first found herself at Tony’s cliffside mansion, there had been the occasional indiscretion. Tony was young and wild, Obadiah Stane held the reins of Stark Industries, and more than once, Pepper had found thin smears of white powder on the surface of Tony’s bathroom counter. Over the years, though, Tony’s drug use had faded away, he had started to lean more on alcohol, until he couldn’t go a day without it. Except for the occasional handful of uppers during a particularly busy week, prescription pills have never been his thing. But now he seems to be taking them quite often. In meetings, Pepper has often noticed him massaging his forehead or pressing his hand against his eyes, his breathing deepening as if he’s trying to will away the pain, and then there is always the quiet rattle of pills, a dry swallow, and after a few minutes, the old Tony Stark is back.

Something is definitely going on with him. She’s mentioned it casually to Rhodey. Jim had promised to keep his eye out… but there’s really no way to find out what’s going on unless they ask Tony directly. She hasn’t been brave enough to try that one yet, but Pepper also knows that if it’s something really bad, Tony will lie to her, he will tell her that everything is fine. If she **really** wants to know what’s going on with him, she’d need to get onto his home network. Computer savvy Pepper may be, but she knows that any attempts to hack into Tony’s home network would generate an instant alert from J.A.R.V.I.S., no matter who is doing the hacking. So, Pepper wants an outsider’s perspective. Her mother has always been very observant, and her father has always been able to befriend even the most standoffish people.

If she’s honest with herself, she’s also bringing Tony home because she wants her parents’ approval. She wants to see her father shake Tony’s hand, wants to see her mother’s delighted smile when Tony is polite and suave as always — she wants to hear them say that they like him, that they understand why she’s put up with all of the trouble, that they understand why she loves him. Not that she’s ever told her parents about her feelings for her boss, but chances are, her mother has figured it out.

Pepper sighs, tipping her head back against the headrest, the embroidered Stark Industries logo rubbing against her scalp. What if her parents _do_ think that something is wrong with Tony? What will she do then?

Tony’s snore cuts off suddenly, his head jerking up, brown eyes blinking open blearily. “Are we there yet?”

She watches as he rubs at his forehead, watches as his lips quirk into a frown, fingernails digging into his skin for a moment before he pulls his hand away and looks at her expectantly.

“We’ll land in thirty minutes.”

“Great,” Tony gets to his feet, stretching his arms up over his head, the joints of his back cracking like gunshots. With a deep sigh, Tony ambles over to stand beside her seat, looking down at her tablet on her lap, the screen dark. “Whatcha doing?”

Pepper crosses her legs, setting her tablet aside. She tilts her head back as she looks up at him, eyes narrowing as she notices a dark line threading across the base of his neck, inching out above the pressed collar of his shirt. It looks almost like he’s accidentally marked himself with a pen, but if she stares long enough, she starts to see sluggish movement in the darkness beneath his skin.

Before she can decide whether or not her eyes are playing tricks on her, Tony’s fingers brush over his neck, blocking her view as he starts to play with his collar.

“Thinking,” Pepper replies.

“About…?”

She sighs. “How I’m going to explain this to them.”

Tony grins at her, glee brightening his brown eyes. “I _knew_ you didn’t ask them.”

* * *

As Tony looks into the green eyes of Elizabeth Potts, he feels an overwhelming sense of disorientation. Pepper is standing beside him, how could she also be standing in front of him, thirty years older, but just as gorgeous? Her mother’s hair is mostly silver now, but as she stands in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, sunlight catches a faint auburn hint.

“Ginny! We didn’t think you would be here until tonight, and...” Elizabeth Potts’ warm Southern drawl catches him off guard, now he’s imagining Pepper in a cowboy hat, all long legs in tight Daisy Duke denim shorts and — _Christ._ Elizabeth’s green eyes dart over to Tony, taking in his brilliant smile, his neatly styled goatee, his thick brown hair brushed back from his forehead. She’s seen pictures of her daughter’s boss before, of course, most often in the rack of tabloids as she waited for her purchases to be rung up at the grocery store.

“My flight was supposed to get in tonight, yes, but...” Pepper is _squirming._ Tony is tempted to do an about face and drive himself to New York in their rented Audi just to spare her this discomfort. There are oodles of hotels in New York that he’s stayed at before, he’ll be fine — but then her mother’s attention refocuses on him, and his brief opportunity to escape has passed.

“You must be Mr. Stark?” Elizabeth extends her hand toward him, Tony reaches out and shakes it gently, her skin is soft but her grip is firm.

“Please, call me Tony. Your daughter, who’s an excellent employee, by the way, she... Well, she mentioned a few days ago that she was flying out here to visit you both, and today she was kind enough to extend an invitation. I’ve heard a lot about you both.”

Lies. Pepper hasn’t told him much about her family. He knows that her mother is big on embroidery and her father is a professor, but that’s really it. Family is a tricky thing for Tony, Pepper knows that, but sometimes he thinks that she keeps things from him to spare him painful thoughts of his own family. Regardless of her good intentions, it bums him out, because she is keeping things that make her happy from him, and her being happy makes him happy. He should ask her more about her family, her interests, her personal life.

“Of course, of course, come in!” Elizabeth steps back into the foyer, Tony glances over at Pepper, expecting her to lead him inside. Pepper seems a bit shell-shocked, though, and he nudges her gently until she blinks and shakes her head slightly.

“Sorry,” she murmurs to him, entering the house, her little weekend-trip suitcase wheeling smoothly after her. Tony inhales deeply, preparing himself for the onslaught of domestic joy, and follows her inside.

“William is still in class,” Elizabeth says cheerfully as they walk down the hall towards the living room, Tony trailing after the mother and daughter duo, taking in his surroundings. Pepper has an affinity for art, it seems as though she inherited that from her parents, famous prints adorn the walls, and just before the entryway to the living room, Tony pauses.

“Is this an original Picasso?”

Elizabeth beams at him. “You have a good eye.”

Pepper raises her eyebrows at him, impressed. Tony is a complicated person, but his public persona is charming. She wonders how many parents of girlfriends he has delighted in his years — and then brushes the thought away, she isn’t his girlfriend, he’s her _boss._

“It’s been in Bill’s family for years. No one is quite sure where it came from, some say it was a gift... but no one can agree on who gave it.” Pepper shakes her head in the background, she’s heard this story at so many parties, her mother never changes the script.

“You know, if it wasn’t a family heirloom, I’d almost offer to buy it off of you.” Tony gives a rakish grin, looking back at the painting. “I have quite the art collection myself.”

Pepper snorts. An art collection that has been the product of her own blood, sweat, and tears. Before today, she would have said Tony wouldn’t know a Picasso even if it kicked him in the balls — and yet here he is, leaning in closer to the canvas, brown eyes serious, searching for deeper meaning.

“Do you need a tissue, honey?” Her mother asks her as she starts to root around in the pocket of her worn jeans, “I swear I have one in here somewhere.”

“No, no,” Pepper says hurriedly. Tt’s true, her mother always has a tissue on hand, but sometimes they look a little worse for wear, the last thing she needs is for Tony to see her mother produce a snotty tissue from her pocket like a magician.

“Maybe a hot drink, then,” Elizabeth decides, leading them into the living room. “Tony, would you care for coffee or tea?”

 _Tea_ Pepper mouths at him from behind her mother, and while Tony isn’t the biggest tea-drinker, he knows that Pepper is regulating his caffeine intake, damn her.

“Tea would be great, thank you, Mrs. Potts.”

“Oh, please, call me Elizabeth,” she flutters, patting him gently on the shoulder. “You just make yourself at home. Ginny, would you give me a hand?”

Elizabeth’s tone is one that Tony is very familiar with — he’d heard it more than once from his mother (“ _Anthony, would you please give me a hand with the dishes? Anthony, it would warm your mother’s heart to hear you practice the piano... Anthony, would you care to help me with dinner?”_ ) It’s a command, not a request. Pepper looks over at him uncertainly, not wanting him to feel abandoned, but he gestures over to the bookshelves set into the wall and gives her an affirming nod. As she and Elizabeth walk towards the doorway leading to the dining room, Tony shuffles over to the massive array of books. The range of topics is so wide that he could stand here all day and still come away having not seen every book, jumping from betta fish breeding to the Third Reich on a single shelf. Amidst the books rammed tightly into the shelves, there’s the occasional framed photograph.

With a small surprised exclamation, Tony leans up on his tiptoes to inspect a photo on one of the upper shelves. It must be from the night of Pepper’s senior prom, she’s wearing a green dress, and is standing nestled into the side of her high school boyfriend. There’s an acidic burn of jealousy in the pit of his stomach as he stares at the All-American blonde with one beefy arm slung around Pepper’s waist, his corsage on his lapel matching the one on her wrist. Ridiculous, to be jealous over a high schooler. _Christ_. But Pepper’s smile is bright, her hand rests on her date’s broad chest — Tony wonders if she’s kept in touch with him.

He glances over his shoulder at the doorway to the dining room, knowing he shouldn’t slink over towards the kitchen and eavesdrop, but not doing much to stop himself from walking towards the door. Tony quietly slips into the dining room, pausing to admire the neatly decorated table, with its folded napkins and fresh flowers. The source of Pepper’s preparedness is becoming quite apparent. Against the wall is a massive china cabinet, filled not only with delicate dishes, but with more framed photos of a young Pepper Potts. Tony glances between the china cabinet and the slightly ajar door to the kitchen, torn for a moment. He can look at the pictures afterwards, he decides.

With his hands resting behind his back, Tony pretends to study the framed photograph on the wall beside the kitchen door, eyes roaming aimlessly over Pepper’s parents on their wedding day, his ears straining.

“— How long have you been seeing each other?” Elizabeth sounds thrilled.

“Mom,” Pepper groans, dishes clattering against the counter, Tony imagines her dropping them due to the overwhelming mortification that floods her at the very _thought_ of dating Tony Stark. “We’re not together, at all.”

“Well, what am I supposed to think, with you bringing him home? Do you not see the way he looks at you, Ginny? With those big brown eyes? I’d simply die if it were me.”

Pepper groans again, Tony grins, cheeks flushing a slight pink. _What can I say? Moms love me._

There’s a beat, the sound of the refrigerator door opening and swinging shut after a moment.

“I do wish you’d told me you were bringing him, dear. We just finished converting the guest room into a craft room. All we have is the couch.”

“Mom, Tony can’t sleep on the _couch._ He’ll have to sleep in my room.”

A scandalized gasp, “ **Virginia!** ”

“Jesus, Mom, I’m thirty one. I’ve slept with men — and I’m just talking about sharing a bed!”

“I do not want to hear this,” frantic footsteps thumping against the kitchen floor.

“Look,” Pepper’s voice drops into a strained whisper, Tony inches closer to the door, all but pressing his ear up against the crack. “After what happened to him —.”

“Bless his heart,” Elizabeth sighs. “I couldn’t imagine that, three months being held captive!”

Pepper makes an exasperated noise before continuing on.

“Yes, exactly. Tony can’t sleep by himself in a new place. He just can’t. We get adjoining rooms at hotels when we go to conferences now. I usually end up sharing a bed with him anyways, they’re big enough. Nothing ever happens, before you get ahead of yourself — he has nightmares if he’s alone somewhere new. And his nightmares are bad. So he can sleep in my room. Anyways, he’ll sleep on the floor, he’ll insist. He wouldn’t want either of you to think badly of him.”

“Alright,” her mother agrees after a long pause, sounding sympathetic. “You know, they never mention any of that in the articles about him…”

“No, they don’t,” Pepper replies, another clatter as she picks up the tray that must be holding the teapot and cups. Tony nearly collides with one of the chairs tucked into the table in his haste to cross the dining room, breathless by the time he reaches the china cabinet, leaning in to inspect the pattern on one of the plates.

“Oh, there you are!” Behind Elizabeth, Pepper narrows her gaze at him, silently asking him how much he had heard. Tony cocks his head slightly, Pepper sighs and sets the tray down on the table.

“Sorry, I started exploring,” Tony replies good-naturedly as he turns to face them, shrugging one shoulder towards the cabinet. “It’s quite the collection you’ve got here. And I have to say, I’m a sucker for all these pictures of a young Pe — Virginia Potts.”

Pepper had warned him on the flight over. At home, she was Ginny, Virginia when she was in trouble. Her parents couldn’t quite wrap their heads around calling her a seasoning. Really, it had been Tony’s nickname for her, and it hadn’t taken long for that nickname to somehow transform itself into her professional identity. 

“She was adorable,” Elizabeth beams, pouring them each a cup of tea.

“ _Was_?” Pepper asks it before Tony can put his foot in his mouth and ask the very same question himself. Elizabeth tsks, shaking her head.

“You’re beautiful now, honey, of course. Do you take milk with your tea, Tony?”

Tony can’t recall the last time he had a cup of tea. His mother often drank an herbal tea before bed, particularly if she was suffering from a migraine. His headache has thankfully abated, and from the smell wafting from the teapot, Tony suspects that Mrs. Potts has made Earl Grey, or some equally strong black tea.

“Sure, that sounds great,” he says as he walks over to the table, eyebrows raising when he notices the little platter of assorted baked goods and finger sandwiches. “Wow, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, it was nothing at all. Help yourself,” Elizabeth waves her hand, her cheeks flushing, Pepper rolls her eyes.

“Thanks,” Tony says as he pops a bite-sized brownie into his mouth. It’s perfect, a rich chocolate flavor with a fudgy consistency, he’s already reaching for a second one. His stomach roils threateningly, his fingers hover over the brownie before he pulls his hand away quickly. 

“Let’s have this in the living room,” Elizabeth says after she takes a sip of her tea, barely able to contain her glee at her idea. “I can get some photo albums out.”

“Mom,” Pepper groans, her hand pressing over her eyes. “Please, God, don’t.”

“Don’t worry, Ginny. I won’t show him the one of you in the bath.” Elizabeth grins as she starts to herd them out of the dining room, Tony quickly picks up the tray of food and tea cups before she can reach for it.

“She shows that one to everyone,” Pepper tells him with a sigh as she settles down on one of the brown leather couches in the living room, Tony carefully sets the tray down on the sturdy oak table in front of the couch before he sinks down beside her. There’s a flare of pain, his hand raises to press against his chest, just below the reactor. His bones ache, if he closes his eyes, he can follow the bright threads of pain as they outline his ribs and wrap around his vertebrae. Tony exhales slowly, rubbing carefully through the fabric of his dress shirt, trying to pass it off as nothing more than a minor ache. Pepper has noticed, though, her eyes are fixed on his hand, watching as he rubs gentle circles against his chest.

“I’ll be right back,” her mother says as she hands Tony his cup of tea from the tray. “You just make yourself comfortable, Tony, dear.”

She bustles off, Tony smiles and takes a sip of the tea. While it’s not the hit of caffeine he would get from his usual IV-drip of black coffee, he can appreciate the citrus undertones, and the fact that Mrs. Potts has given him at least two very hefty teaspoons of sugar. He waits for the nausea that comes whenever he eats or drinks these days, but fortunately, his stomach seems to settle with another sip of tea.

“She’s great,” he tells Pepper, turning his head so that he can look into her eyes.

Pepper grimaces. “She’s definitely something.”

“No, I’m serious. She loves you. It’s sweet.”

Pepper smiles slightly, looking away from him. Yes, they do have a tendency to engage in extended eye contact, but Tony is usually the one to look away first, his heart thudding in his chest, feeling the ghost of her lips against his own as he imagines kissing her.

“If me staying is a problem, I could go, you know,” Tony says quietly, his thumb trailing over the edge of his porcelain cup, steam puffing against his skin. “I could get myself to New York. They always keep a suite available for me at the Four Seasons. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“No,” Pepper shakes her head, biting at her bottom lip slightly, Tony watches as her eyes flick over towards him before she refocuses her attention on her own cup of tea. “Unless — you don’t want to stay?”

Sleeping on the floor of Pepper’s childhood bedroom certainly sounds like a fever dream, and he knows that his joints will be so stiff in the morning that Pepper might have to physically help him off the ground. But he doesn’t want to spend the night alone in a familiar hotel room, however opulent the thread count on the sheets may be, when he could instead spend time getting to know Pepper’s parents. If Elizabeth’s baking is any indication of her skill in the kitchen, he’s in for an excellent home cooked dinner, too — and that’s hard to pass up. It reminds him of his mother.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Tony sets the cup down on the table. He stares down at the backs of his hands as he rests them against his knees, feeling Pepper’s gaze on him. Anxiously, he wonders if any of the palladium lines are jutting out from the collar of his shirt, but if they are, and he reaches up to adjust his collar — she’ll notice, and then she might ask...

“This is probably hard for you,” Pepper says quietly, her hand reaching out, her fingers brushing against the knuckles of his right hand, her touch fleeting over the yellowing bruises left behind by a brief workshop accident involving U and a power drill. “If it’s too much, if that’s why you want... It won’t hurt my feelings, Tony. I’d understand. It was kind of crazy of me to invite you.”

He glances over at her with a grin, lifting one eyebrow. “Kinda?”

Pepper laughs quietly, her eyes finding his again. This time, even as the seconds tick by, neither of them look away. Tony breathes in as he starts to slowly lean in towards her, Pepper’s head tilts to the side slightly, her lips parting — he can feel the warmth of her breath against his lips, can smell the floral notes of her perfume, there are mere centimeters separating them.

“I’ve got them!” Elizabeth Potts declares as she re-enters the room, Tony and Pepper both jump away from each other as if they’d been electrocuted. Tony’s ears are burning, his mouth is dry. His fumbling hands grab at his cup of tea, taking a blistering gulp. Pepper has somehow procured a finger sandwich, he glances over at her as she starts to tear the soft white bread into tiny pieces that crumble to the floor, her attention fixed on anything in the room except Tony Stark.

They needn’t have worried, though, because Elizabeth Potts’ entire upper body is obscured by a stack of photo albums that towers at least a foot over her head. Tony springs to his feet, cup clattering on the table in his haste to get to Pepper’s mother.

“Here, let me get that for you — God, this is only _some_ photo albums?” Tony grunts exaggeratedly as he hefts the albums into his arms, grinning when Elizabeth laughs as he staggers dramatically over to the couch to set the photo albums down, even Pepper has a slight smile on her face from his antics.

“Well, I didn’t know exactly which ones you’d want to see…”

Tony glances over at Pepper, holding her gaze for a moment, his own expression serious. “I’d like to see all of them.”

Pepper blushes and looks away from him, sighing in relief as her mother takes a seat beside her. She doesn’t know if she can handle this sudden intensity from Tony without embarrassing herself. _What is going on with him?_ Yes, in the eight years that she’s known him, she’s been on the receiving end of countless flirtations from Tony Stark, some cornier than others, some more breathtakingly inappropriate than others, but it’s really all part of the job, she knows that. This behavior is unusual, this sudden intense interest in her childhood, her family — and, for God’s sake, they’d almost just **kissed** less than two minutes ago!

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Elizabeth decides, flipping open a well-loved photo album adorned with storks and swaddled babies on the cover as Tony settles down onto the couch beside her. Pepper watches as he leans forward eagerly, brown eyes scanning over the pages, grinning at the few ultrasound pictures tucked in between photos of an increasingly pregnant Elizabeth Potts.

“Was it an easy pregnancy?” Tony asks, glancing over at Pepper with a slight smirk. It’s Pepper Potts, she probably came out right on schedule, with her purse in one hand and her Blackberry in the other.

“Oh, I don’t know if I would say that,” Elizabeth smiles down at a picture of squalling newborn Pepper Potts in her arms. “William and I had been trying for a few years, actually. I’d had a miscarriage — in fact, before we found out that we were pregnant with Ginny, my doctor told me that it was unlikely that I’d ever be able to carry a baby to term.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says quickly, “that was a stupid question — I...”

“Oh, dear, don’t worry about it,” Elizabeth says brightly, patting him on the knee. “How could you have known? Anyways, we’re very lucky to have Ginny,” she nudges her daughter with a smile, “I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

“Me either,” Tony replies after a pause, Pepper shakes her head with a slight smile before her eyes widen with mortification, her hand a blur as it slaps over an offending photograph, blocking it from Tony’s view.

“Mom! You said you wouldn’t show him the bathtub picture!”

“Oops, I did, didn’t I? Must’ve slipped my mind.”

Tony reaches up and covers his eyes, curling his fingers against his skin so that Pepper knows that he’s maintaining complete darkness, a grin on his face.

“You two’d better flip through and remove any pictures that might make Pep — er — Ginny… die of embarrassment.”

They sit on the couch for hours poring over old photographs, Pepper correcting her mother whenever Elizabeth starts to relay any incorrect information — _actually, Mom, that’s the fifth grade spelling bee that I came in first place at. In fourth grade, I only got second place — that bitch Monica Davis beat me at the last round. How the hell would I know that ‘shilling’ has two L’s in it? Got her back next year, though, didn’t I?_ It’s delightful, seeing this side of Pepper, at home and comfortable, cracking the occasional joke, blushing her way through recounted stories of the various dates she went on with her high school boyfriend (Todd. He was, in fact, the star quarterback. It’s not much to go on, but when he has a minute, Tony will go on a deep dive Internet search to find out more information about _Todd_ ). At 6 pm, Elizabeth hurries off to the kitchen to check on dinner, and Pepper disappears behind a thick mahogany door to make a few calls for work.

Tony leans back against the couch, closing his eyes as he starts to feel the first few threatening bursts of pain at his temples. It’s been such a great afternoon, of course he’d get a headache to end all headaches to balance things out. It’s how life works for him — win an Apogee Award, get kidnapped and tortured — nearly kiss Pepper Potts on a balcony, be betrayed by a man who was like a father to you — try to be a superhero, slowly kill yourself while doing it. Tony massages at his temples gently, pressing his fingers against tense muscle and sturdy bone, as if he could press the pain back into whatever malicious little box it hides in when not tormenting him. The front door swings open, there’s a burst of cold air and cheerful, tuneless whistling. Tony drops his hands away from his head, half rising to his feet, looking over as William Potts plods into the living room.

It’s like Tony’s back in Cambridge, a piece of burnt toast crammed into his mouth, sprinting out of his dorm to get to a class on thermodynamics that there’s no way in hell he’s making on time. William Potts looks like any one of the professors he’d blown past on campus, down to his brown corduroy jacket and tousled grey hair. His whistling cuts off abruptly when he sees Tony, shoving a stack of papers under his arm so that he can clap Tony companionably on the back.

“Good to see you again!” Bill Potts says cheerfully, his voice booming. The force of the blow to Tony’s shoulder nearly sends him back down onto the couch, his knees buckling slightly.

“I…” Before Tony can say anything, or introduce himself to this man that he has never met before, Pepper’s father resumes his whistling and ambles through the doorway towards the dining room.

“Lizzy? Where are ya, hon?”

Tony sinks back down onto the couch, staring over at where the man had disappeared with a bemused expression.

There’s the faint sound of a kiss, Tony wonders if Pepper would make an apologetic face at him were she here to hear that.

“Who’s that man in my house?” Bill asks his wife, though he’s met with instant shushing from Elizabeth.

“Bill! It’s Tony Stark — Ginny’s boss!”

“What? Is Ginny here already?”

Bill Potts comes bursting out of the door in a flurry of brown corduroy, he throws open the mahogany door leading into his office, letting out a whoop when he catches sight of Pepper, her hand extended towards where the doorknob had been seconds before. She laughs as her father heaves her up into his arms, spinning her around in a tight hug, his papers streaming out onto the floor.

“Dad, put me down!”

“You didn’t say you were coming early, I would’ve canceled class,” Bill presses a kiss to her forehead as he sets her back down on her feet.

Pepper chuckles, quickly brushing her hair back from her face, her cheeks flushed. “Dad, you haven’t canceled class ever in my whole entire life.”

Bill runs his fingers through his wild hair, Pepper reaches out to pat down some particularly out-of-control wisps.

“That’s true, I suppose,” he turns to face the couch, raising his eyebrow at Tony, who quickly gets up off of the couch and walks over to them.

“Tony Stark,” he says as he extends his hand to Bill, grinning slightly. “We haven’t met.”

“If I’m being honest with you, I thought I’d forgotten about a dinner party or something,” Bill admits, shaking his hand. “Elizabeth didn’t mention that you were bringing a guest, Ginny. Especially your… boss?”

Pepper shrugs her shoulders, trying to pass this off as casual — but at least it’s the last time she’ll have to explain herself. For once in her life, she’s grateful that she doesn’t have any siblings.

“Tony has a meeting in New York tomorrow, so we were both headed in the same direction.”

“Is that right?” Bill shuts his office door, gesturing towards the couch as he bends down to pick up his papers, setting them in a messy pile beside countless others on a side table beside his office door. “I must admit, I don’t know much about your business — well, of course, I know a lot about your father.”

Pepper watches Tony’s smile as it becomes fixed, warmth seeping out of his brown eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Dad’s a history professor,” she supplies quickly, wanting Tony to understand that Bill’s not some mega Howard Stark fan. “He specializes in World War II.”

“Your father was pretty instrumental in the war effort. Hell, that’s without even talking about Captain America.”

Pepper exhales softly, watching as Tony cocks his head, a slight grin on his face. Tony Stark is the biggest Captain America fanboy that she’s ever met. She’s grown quite familiar with the vintage Captain America action figure that camps out on his desk at Stark Industries. Sometimes, when she comes into his office to talk about something serious, she watches his eyes glaze over before he grabs the Captain America figure and walks it along her forearm, his voice dropping into a gruff bark. She settles onto the couch, grabbing a throw blanket and wrapping it around herself, prepared to sit and listen to the two men discuss Steve Rogers for hours on end. At least dinner is almost ready.

Just as they get into their theories on where Captain America’s plane went down, Elizabeth appears in the doorway to the dining room, looking frazzled.

“Dinner’s ready! I hope you like beef stew, Tony, it’s Bill’s favorite.”

“We always have it on Fridays,” Bill informs him as he walks over to his wife, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Of course you ask that once I’ve finished everything,” Elizabeth says exasperatedly, throwing her hands up into the air as she disappears into the dining room. Bill shrugs, following after her.

“I feel bad,” Tony says, glancing over at Pepper as he rubs a hand over his jaw. “She didn’t go to any trouble, did she?”

“There was a minor meltdown in the kitchen earlier about what type of bread you would eat,” Pepper admits, setting her phone on the table, gesturing for Tony to do the same. He raises an eyebrow but obeys.

“No phones at the table?”

“That’s right,” Pepper says over her shoulder as she walks to the dining room. “A very strict rule. My dad still has a flip phone.”

Tony laughs, and then his eyes widen in horror. “You’re kidding…”

The table is set for four. Bill has sat at the head of the table, his usual seat, with Elizabeth to his right and Pepper to his left. Tony hides a smile, his place has been set beside Pepper. _Someone is trying their hand at matchmaking._

“It smells delicious,” Tony says as he takes his seat, carefully unfolding his napkin, mirroring Pepper as she sets hers on her lap. “Beef stew was one of my dad’s favorites. We didn’t have it often, though. My mom was Italian, we were big on pasta and seafood — and wine, of course.” Apparently, the Potts’ are big on wine too, there’s a large glass in front of him filled with a glinting red wine, probably a Malbec.

“Do you cook much?” Elizabeth starts to ladle stew into his bowl, which is massive. In a few scoops, he’s got a ginormous portion in front of him, and that’s before she puts half a baguette on a small plate beside his bowl.

“No,” Tony admits, “though your daughter has tried to bully me into it.”

Pepper splutters, nearly choking on her wine. She dabs at her chin with her napkin, staining the white cloth red, glowering at him. “I don’t _bully_ you.” She turns to her parents, “Tony’s an amazing cook, he’s just —.”

“Lazy,” Tony interjects cheerfully.

“You’re not lazy,” Pepper says with a frown. “You’re just busy.”

“Prioritizing self-care is important,” Elizabeth tells him, pointing her fork at him. “Though I’m familiar with men who get too involved in their work to eat,” she glances over at her husband. “Even if the things they are _studying_ happened decades ago.”

“Don’t want to lose my train of thought,” Bill says around a mouthful of bread.

Tony quickly takes a bite of stew, if he doesn’t get started on it now, he’ll be at the table all night. If they’re a ‘no phones at the table’ family, they’re probably a ‘no one can get up until their plates are cleared’ family, too. Whatever the palladium is doing to his body, it’s also been ruining his appetite. He struggles to swallow this first bite, his hand curling into a fist under the table, fingernails digging into his palm. Thankfully, Elizabeth and Bill are having a good-natured spat about skipped faculty dinner parties, but Pepper looks over at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” he mutters under his breath, taking another bite, forcefully chewing and swallowing until Pepper’s attention returns to her parents.

“So,” Bill says suddenly, fixing Tony with a piercing stare — he feels like an unlucky freshman who hasn’t done the reading. “What’s your meeting for tomorrow?”

“Bill,” Elizabeth chides him, “that’s nosy!”

“No, no,” Tony smiles, squirming only slightly in his seat. _Oh, well, what does it matter? The Expo’s going to happen, so this isn’t that major of a lie, it’s not hurting anyone._ “I’m meeting an executive with an event management company. You’re familiar with my father’s expositions?”

“The Stark Expo? Oh, absolutely. That’s where the first prototype for the Stark Hovercar debuted.”

“Yeah,” Tony laughs, thankful that he hadn’t been alive to witness _that_ particular tantrum his father no doubt had backstage. “Well, you know, Dad always wanted to put on a show. Anyways, it’s just been an idea knocking around in the back of my head — we have a lot of amazing things going on at Stark Industries, we’re making big strides with our intellicrops, our medical devices, and our clean energy prototypes…” _Not to mention Iron Man, but Pepper would definitely call_ ** _that_** _masturbatory._ “Plus, I think it would make the old man happy, if he was here to see it, so…” Tony takes another sip of wine, at least alcohol goes down easy.

“When are you thinking of having it?”

_Ah, well, you see Bill, time’s ticking._

“Ideally, this month.”

This time, Pepper really does choke on her wine, her hand slams down onto the table, eyes watering as she coughs. Tony rises from his chair, ready, willing, and able to give her the Heimlich maneuver ( _and I will_ ** _not_** _feel her up. I will not…_ ) but she waves him away, taking a ragged breath, her dress now stained with wine.

“This… month?” Her voice is hoarse, tears still trickling from her eyes. “Tony, how the _hell…_?”

“Let’s not talk business,” Elizabeth says decisively, reaching out to put more stew in Pepper’s bowl, even as her daughter tries to push the ladle away. “You’re too skinny, Ginny, I swear every time I call you at mealtimes, you’re always having a smoothie.”

Pepper shakes her head, her eyes fixed on Tony, lips pressing into a firm line.

“We can talk about it later,” Tony mutters out of the corner of his mouth, trying to appease her, but Pepper’s eyes narrow. She’s going to hold him to that promise.

It seems that Pepper’s parents are intent on avoiding this looming knock-down fight because once dinner is over, Elizabeth ushers Tony out of the kitchen and shuts down his offer of helping with the dishes, roping Pepper into it instead. Bill is quick to pull Tony into his office with the offer of showing Tony his model battlefield. Pepper glances over at him, green eyes sharp, red lips pursed, and Tony nods in resignation — a silent, weary _yes, dear._

Bill opens the door to his office for Tony, who lets out a long whistle when he catches sight of the expansive table in the middle of the office. The office itself is a mess, it’s hard for Tony to believe that this man is Pepper’s _father,_ not when there are haphazard stacks of books and term papers dotted along the floor. There’s an ancient looking desktop computer on a desk tucked against the window, and there are even more term papers waiting to be graded, resting on the seat of the computer chair — likely so that Bill would be forced to pick them up and look at them before sitting down. The table, though, that’s the centerpiece of the room.

It’s at least six feet long, and on it is a model battlefield, complete with destroyed buildings, tanks, fragmented trees, and countless soldiers dotted along the landscape. Tony squats down in front of the table, inspecting the careful paintwork on one of the tanks.

“It’s the Battle of Stalingrad,” Bill says as he shuffles over to his desk, rifling through his drawers. Though his back is to Tony, his pride is evident in his voice.

“It’s incredible — how long...?” Tony carefully sets the tank down exactly where it had been placed, leaning further over the table to inspect the city square, gently pressing his fingertip against a miniature fountain, feeling the tiny pieces of grit that Bill had glued down by hand to simulate rubble.

“I’ve been working on it for about four months now. Drives Lizzy crazy, but I find it relaxing. To tell you the truth, I work on it when I should be grading.” He looks over his shoulder at Tony with a rueful grin. “There’s absolutely no way I’m submitting final grades on time this semester, I’m at least three papers behind — and that’s just in one class. God help me when it comes to the capstone class.”

“Where do you teach?”

“Georgetown.” There’s a quiet snap of latches being undone, Tony looks up when he smells the sweet, earthy scent of good tobacco. “Do you smoke, Tony?”

He does keep a pack of cigarettes in his nightstand, it’s true, but he only indulges in that habit after _really good_ sex. Or when he’s out at a club, he’ll bum a cigarette off of someone, there’s never a smoke better than one bummed off of someone — _fuck, now I really want one._

“Not often, Pep — uh, your daughter —.”

“Says it’s a nasty habit,” Bill supplies, carefully packing the bowl of his pipe, his eyebrows furrowed. “I swear to God the first sentence she ever said to me was ‘that’s a nasty habit, Dado.’ She called me Dado for the longest time...” Bill smiles, reminiscing, before he looks up at Tony. “I don’t have another pipe, but I can roll you a cigarette, and then maybe you could have a go at painting one of the tanks?”

“Really?” To think, this is must be how interactions are for everyone with normal relationships with their father. _In_ _credible_. Howard Stark had smoked cigars, along with Uncle Obie. Tony would never have dared to skim from his father’s stash. Here is Bill Potts, treating him as though Tony is his son. Something in Tony’s chest wrenches — it’s not pain, it’s not the palladium poisoning — it’s regret. He swallows, glancing back at the model in front of him, missing his father, or really, the concept of a father.

“Absolutely. You’re an inventor, I’m sure you have steady hands.” Bill offers him a slim cigarette, Tony slips it between his lips and blinks as Bill strikes a match and lights it for him before lighting his own pipe.

“Thanks,” Tony says, inhaling slightly, his eyes widening at the flavor. “Is this — cognac flavored?” His fingers curl against his thigh at the hazy nicotine rush. It’s been a while since he’s had a smoke.

Bill offers him an ashtray in the shape of the country of Italy, which makes Tony grin. He blows his smoke to the side, not wanting to get any on the model, though he has a feeling that an evening smoke and a bit of model work is a nightly ritual for Pepper’s father.

“Yes, it is. It’s still good, local tobacco. They’d kick me out of Virginia if I bought out of state.”

Tony pauses, the cigarette halfway to his lips. “Hang on. I just realized...”

Bill grins. “Uh huh. Well, what can I say? We both loved the name. Ginny complained all through school, though, of people teasing her... Is it true she doesn’t go by Virginia at work?”

Tony nods, taking another pull from the cigarette, buying himself time.

“A nickname from you, I gather.”

Tony glances away, feeling the heat in his cheeks. Christ, why did he have to blush at a time like this?

Bill hums in response, moving back over to his desk to gather his modeling supplies. He drags a little side table over to the model, setting down tiny pots of acrylic paints. He offers Tony a laminated photo of a tank.

“For you to reference,” he says, smoke billowing around his head as he exhales. “A Soviet T-34. Of course, the Battle of Stalingrad was more of a bloody streetfight than anything else, but there were tanks — mostly situated near the Volga to deal with the German Panzers, but... I digress.”

“History never really was my thing,” Tony admits, picking up a paintbrush as Bill selects an unfinished model. “Dad loved it, though.”

Together the two men sit in comfortable silence, Tony carefully applying strokes of olive green paint to the model vehicle. They move on to soldiers after an hour or so, the small details requiring much more controlled flicks of the paintbrush.

“Ginny talks about you a lot,” Bill says, keeping his eyes fixed on the soldier held between his index finger and his thumb. Tony feels his heart skip a beat, his palms start to sweat. He carefully sets his soldier down on the small table with his painted compatriots, reaching for the tumbler of cognac Bill had poured him, the flavor much stronger than the tobacco — and thankfully, far more alcoholic.

Tony clears his throat, fingers tapping against the battlefield, artificial moss springing against his fingertips. “She does?”

Bill’s blue eyes pierce him, his expression grave. “Do you talk about her as much?”

It’s a loaded question. Tony knows that his answer will be reported to Elizabeth before bed, hell, she’d probably given Bill this task after dinner. He’s executed it masterfully, lulling Tony into a false sense of fatherly security, with his models, his tobacco, and his decent brandy. And now Tony’s been put on the spot.

“I do,” he replies, thinking back to that moment on the couch, Pepper’s lips so close to his own, her eyelids fluttering shut in anticipation of the kiss.

“I see,” Bill murmurs, tilting his soldier towards the light, he quickly grabs a damp washcloth from the table and wipes away the tiniest fleck of paint. “As I said, I don’t know much about your company, but you have been in the news for — well, I feel like I see you on the cover of magazines all the time, and —.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Tony interrupts gruffly, gulping down the last of his drink. “Honestly, Mr. Potts, I won’t be around for much longer.”

Bill blinks. _Fuck._

“I mean that I — I — I’m going to be moving out of the country,” Tony says wildly, pushing his fingers through his hair. _Yeah, yeah that’ll work, don’t lose this, Stark._ “Stark Industries, we’ve always been an international company, but things are really taking off. So, y’know, after the Expo, I’m going to be spending more of my time away from home. I was actually intending on promoting Pepper — Virginia, sorry — I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her that, though, it’s a surprise.” The words are spilling out of Tony so fast that he can hardly understand them himself. “So, she and I — well, we won’t be seeing each other very often, so... So it won’t matter.”

Bill raises one eyebrow, “I didn’t mean for you to... You’re not... Well, you’re famous, son. You’d understand a father’s concern. Not that Ginny can’t look out for herself, because she can, but...”

Tony sets his glass down, giving Bill Potts a patented Tony Stark smile, all teeth and false cheer. “No, I understand completely. Like I said, you don’t have anything to worry about. It’s getting late, though, I should probably get the bags out of the car, get to bed. I’m probably going to be gone before breakfast...” He strides towards the door, forcing himself to relax his shoulders. His hand wraps around the doorknob, his palm slick against the metal. He exhales past gritted teeth, looking over his shoulder at Pepper’s father.

Bill Potts still has the pipe clenched between his teeth, he’s still holding his model soldier, but his lips are quirked into a frown, his blue eyes are troubled.

“This was great, though, thank you. And thank you for having me.”

“Tony,” Bill starts slowly, rising from the stool he’s sitting on, extending one hand towards him. “You don’t have to —.”

“No, no,” Tony says quickly, opening the door. “No, really. I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Thanks again.” Before Bill can reply, Tony slips out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

* * *

“Ugh,” Pepper’s nose wrinkles as she steps back to allow Tony into her bedroom. “You’ve been smoking with my dad.”

“I’m not even going to try to lie my way out of that one,” Tony says as he edges into her bedroom, bringing the collar of his shirt up to his nose, inhaling deeply. Yes, he smells like tobacco, brandy, and acrylic paint. But… he’s in Pepper Potts’ childhood bedroom. He looks around as he steps into the brightly lit room. The walls are painted a very light pink, and are mostly unadorned. Carefully, he sets down his duffel bag and briefcase by the door, Pepper making a noise of interest as she nudges the red and silver briefcase with her toe. He brushes past her, eyes fixed on the knickknacks sitting on a shelf set into the opposite wall beside a large window that looks out onto the street.

The first thing on the shelf floods him with a warm rush of affection and nostalgia. Pepper can’t be much older than nine or ten, she’s wearing a black leotard and soft pink ballet shoes, gracefully arcing up en pointe. Her green eyes are narrowed at the camera — a look that he’s very familiar with, _don’t interrupt me Tony, I’m thinking_ — her auburn hair drawn up into a tight bun. But there’s something else in her eyes, beyond the seriousness, a sort of serenity that he has only seen in Pepper a few times, one of which had been as they had swayed across the ballroom at the Firefighter’s Family Fund gala last year.

“You danced?”

“What’s this?” Pepper crosses her arms over her chest, her cheeks flushed, but her bare foot knocks against the briefcase again.

“I asked first,” Tony says, straightening the frame on the shelf.

“I’ll answer if you do.”

“Fine,” he huffs. “It’s a suit. A prototype.”

“There’s a _suit_ in here?” Pepper takes several steps away from the briefcase, eyeing it warily.

“I’m not asking again,” Tony says as he moves on to the next item on the shelf, smiling slightly. There it is, a first-place trophy from her fifth grade spelling bee. _Cute, that she still has it displayed…_ Tony knows, though, that Pepper hasn’t been home permanently since moving to California for undergrad. The most time she’s spent at home has been over Christmas, four whole nights, something that Elizabeth had bemoaned over dinner. This bedroom is more like a time capsule from Pepper’s childhood, her teenage years were spent largely at her school, at the library, or at the ice cream parlor where she held a part time job (and somehow managed the books before she even had her driver’s license).

“Yes, I danced. All through college, actually,” Pepper lowers herself down onto the edge of her full-sized bed, running her hand over the worn sheets. Every Christmas, her mother asks if she would like new sheets for her bed, and every year, Pepper says no. There’s something comforting about the sheets, about her bed, about this room — whenever she’s here, she can cast aside her worries (usually about Tony Stark) and be Ginny Potts again, even if it’s only for a few days. Except now her primary worry has followed her here, at her invitation, and is snooping around her bedroom, a smirk on his face.

“Why’d you stop?”

Pepper gives him a look, so piercing that he glances down at his chest, expecting to see the pathways of palladium through the fabric of his shirt and his undershirt — but there’s nothing there except the soft glow of his reactor. Then he realizes.

“Oh, me.”

“Yes, you. Free time became a thing of the past when I started working for you. Why’d you bring a suit?”

Tony shoves his hands into his pockets, looking out the window, his back to her. “You know, Pep. Gotta stay strapped.”

She snorts.

“And,” he continues, leaning forward, the tip of his nose brushing against the cool glass, “I was going to leave you the car. I faked your signature on the papers at the airport, anyways.”

“You what?”

“Oh, Pepper, please,” Tony waves his left hand, brushing her outrage aside. “You fake my signature all the time —.”

“That is not the same thing!”

“Mm, but you see, I think it is… I’m taking the suit to New York, it’ll get me there faster, anyways. It’s sexy, you driving an Audi. Imagine the look on _Todd’s_ face if you showed up at his house, driving that.”

“Todd?” Pepper looks at him uncomprehendingly, then her eyebrows raise, shaking her head. “Christ, Tony — Todd and I… He doesn’t even live here anymore.”

“Shame,” Tony replies, sniffing slightly, looking up at the sky. It might rain, the trees lining the street bend with the force of the wind. A little bit of inclement weather will make the flight to New York more interesting.

“Anyways, would you _want_ me to see Todd?”

Silence descends over the room, Tony can see Pepper in the reflection of the window, her eyes wide at her own boldness, her fingers combing through her hair anxiously.

“No, not particularly.” Tony turns, resting his back against the window, arms crossed over his chest.

“The Expo,” Pepper says suddenly, her jaw tensing, lips pressing together tightly.

“What about it?”

“Really, Tony? _This month_? You sent the memo out… Wednesday? How on Earth do you think that I’m going to — that’s not enough time for me to get it set up.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tony counters, indignant when Pepper snorts and looks away from him. “I will! I’ll set the whole goddamn thing up, you won’t have to do a thing.”

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to do it — just — why can’t we plan it properly? We’d need at least six months, Tony, for it to be… You know, the sort of quality that you —.”

“It’ll be exactly the quality people expect from me, Pepper, and I don’t want to wait six months.”

“But why?” Pepper looks at him searchingly, her hands curling where they rest on her thighs. “ _Why,_ Tony?”

Tony exhales, looking away from her, Pepper watches as his jaw tightens, the muscles in his forearms tensing into tight coils.

“It’ll get done this month. Can I use your bathroom? I want to get ready for bed.”

Pepper shakes her head. She should be used to this, Tony’s expert ability to deflect, to change the subject, to catch her off guard with his cold disinterest in her concern, and yet, she still feels vaguely nauseous. “Fine, Tony. Whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” Tony replies, striding forward to his duffel bag. She watches as he kneels in front of it, his head bent as he pulls the zipper back and roots around inside for his pajamas and toiletries. He had gotten his hair cut shorter over the summer, the gentle curls of brown hair at the nape of his neck that she had dreamt of teasing between her fingers had been shorn away. He gets to his feet with an easy grace, moving lightly on his feet as he disappears into her ensuite bathroom, a black leather toiletry bag held under his arm, the door shutting firmly behind him.

Pepper gets ready for bed, listening absentmindedly as the taps of her sink pour out thick streams of water, as Tony brushes his teeth with his usual force that always makes her wince (how do his gums endure the daily torment?). She ties her hair up into a loose ponytail, lying back on her bed, waiting for Tony to finish up so that she can remove her makeup.

He doesn’t take a shower, nor does he shave, but he’s certainly in her bathroom for a long time, at least half an hour. Tony is vain, but his nightly rituals don’t usually take this long. She turns her head as the door creaks, feeling a rush of heat across her skin as her face reddens with a blush. Tony stands in the doorway, wearing a worn grey t-shirt with David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust over the chest and a pair of black briefs. She has seen Tony in various states of undress. Her particular favorite had been that warm June morning, years ago, when she had walked into his bedroom and happened upon him fast asleep in bed, completely naked. The top sheet had been tangled around his waist, preserving most of his modesty, except for the gentle curve of one magnificent set of gluteal muscles, taut even in sleep. She had found herself doodling that curve during meetings, crammed into the margins of her detailed notes on budgets and product design. Yet there’s something so vulnerable about the way he’s leaning against the doorframe, wordlessly comfortable in her presence as he rubs at his eyes tiredly. With his hands over his eyes, Pepper takes a quick look — how could she _not?_ — her eyes darting down the length of him, focusing for a moment as they pass over the front of his briefs, making a note of the paleness of his thighs compared to the envious tan of his legs. When was the last time she had seen him sunbathe? That was a favorite activity of Tony’s, she usually found him sprawled out by the pool wearing a Speedo, a timer ticking beside his head. Pepper doesn’t think she’s seen him outside in at least a month, maybe two.

“What are you wearing?” Tony asks her with a soft smile, Pepper glances down at herself, irrationally certain that she’d put on lingerie instead of her pajamas — she must be, with the way that Tony is looking at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Pajamas,” Pepper replies, sitting up and resting back against the headboard of her bed, fingers rubbing at the end of her pajama shorts, decorated with cartoon alligators. “I’ve had these forever. I never bring this type of thing with me when I visit home.”

“Well… The bathroom’s all yours.” Tony returns to his duffel bag, packing away his dirty clothes and his toiletry bag. Pepper passes him, curling her hand into a fist so that her fingers don’t reach out and brush through his hair, even though the urge to do so is almost overwhelming.

Once inside with the bathroom door locked behind her, Pepper exhales between her teeth, looking at herself in the mirror. She’s still blushing. Muttering a stream of curses under her breath, she reaches for her makeup remover, but pauses when she notices something red sparkling in the sink.

Bending down over the bowl, Pepper inhales sharply. There’s bright red beads of blood in her sink. Tony hadn’t shaved tonight, there were no pieces of toilet paper pressed to cuts on his jaw, and yet, he had bled. Pepper looks around wildly, searching for signs of anything amiss, loose razor blades, bloody pieces of toilet paper, the wrapper of a bandaid — but there’s nothing. Quickly, she wipes away the blood, flushing the stained paper away. She glances at the door, wondering if she should go out and ask Tony if he’s okay, if he’d hurt himself. Maybe he’d accidentally cut himself carving a tree for her father’s model… but wouldn’t he have mentioned that? She swallows back a swell of nausea, Pepper hates blood, but it’s gone, she’s flushed it away and Tony is fine.

That’s what her mother says, anyways, that Tony is fine. _Sure, honey, he looks a little tired… But he’s a busy man, right? Why — what do you think is wrong with him?_ Pepper had shaken her head, too frustrated to answer her mother. She doesn’t _know_ what is wrong with him, just that there _is_ something wrong with him. She’ll ask her father tomorrow, he and Tony had spent a record three hours in each other’s company. Perhaps he’ll bring it up to her over breakfast without Pepper even having to ask.

When she exits the bathroom, she blinks, Tony is sitting cross legged on the floor beside his bags, sucking on his right index finger.

“What are you — you can sit on my bed, you know? We’re going to be sleeping in it, anyways, so sitting on it wouldn’t have bothered me.”

Tony shakes his head, pulling his hand away from his mouth, scrutinizing the pad of his finger for a moment before shaking his hand out at his side. “I’m not sleeping in your bed, Pepper.”

“Tony.” She knew this was coming, she’d told her mother as much earlier. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a full, we can fit. If you kick me or start snoring, I’ll wake you up. Not a big deal.”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” he repeats, voice deepening, brown eyes serious. “It’s your parents’ house.”

“They won’t care.”

Tony crosses his arms over his chest, looking at her stubbornly. Pepper sighs.

“You’re really going to sleep on the floor, aren’t you?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Tony grumbles, heaving himself up onto his feet — he loses his balance and staggers, Pepper lunges forward to steady him, but he catches himself against the wall with a thud.

“Tony —.”

“Your dad has some strong shit, Potts,” he tells her with a crazed grin, but there’s a frightened uncertainty in his eyes, gone in a split-second after he blinks.

“I can’t believe you’re going to sleep on the floor,” Pepper mutters under her breath, moving past him to the door. True to her word, her mother has left a twin-sized mattress in the hallway for Tony to sleep on, complete with a pile of sheets, blankets, and pillows. She starts to drag it into her room, but Tony bumps her aside with his hip and seizes it, dragging it back into her bedroom. He sets it beside her bed so that he’ll sleep below her nightstand, where his cellphone will rest until it rings at 5 am with a quiet alarm that he’ll sleep through, leaving Pepper to grumpily nudge him in the darkness until he wakes up with a groan.

Pepper starts to make the bed for him, ignoring Tony’s complaints and brushing his hands away as he attempts to help. She tosses him a pillowcase to shut him up, and by the time he’s gotten the pillowcase on the pillow, his bed is made.

“Do you need anything?” Pepper gets to her feet, looking down at him. Tony flops back onto the mattress, resting his hands beneath his head, looking up at her with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m all good, Pep. Good service here…”

“The very best. Hotel Potts has five stars, after all.” Pepper gets into her bed, reaching over to turn up the volume on his phone, wanting to ensure that she at least wakes up even if he doesn’t.

Tony stares up at the ceiling, his hands now clasped together and resting over his chest. When Pepper turns the lights off, his fingers cast shadows in the reactor’s glow on the ceiling.

“So…” He says in the darkness. Pepper sighs.

“What?”

“Don’t you think we should be playing a game, or something?”

“A game?” Pepper repeats, turning on her side so that she can look down at him, her eyebrows furrowed.

“You know, like truth-or-dare —.”

“Absolutely not —.”

“ — or seven minutes in heaven.”

“Are you kidding?”

“You have a perfectly good closet,” the shadows on the ceiling change as Tony raises his right hand to point to the closet door. “We could totally go and make out.”

“You want to play seven minutes in heaven but you won’t sleep in my bed?”

Tony hums, his hand falling to the mattress. “You’ve got me there.”

“I usually do. Good night, Mr. Stark.”

Tony glances up at her, brown eyes nearly black in the light of the reactor. “Good night, Ms. Potts.”

He watches as she gets comfortable on the bed, tugging her duvet up over her shoulders, her eyes slowly drifting shut. Without speaking, she lets one arm fall over the edge of the bed, her fingers splaying. Tony shifts and reaches out, his fingers lacing between hers.

It’s an unspoken agreement, harkening back to those first terrible nights following his return from Afghanistan, when Pepper had slept beside him and soothed him when he woke screaming. Her hand would find his, squeezing it tightly — _I’m here, Tony, you’re home. You’re safe. I promise._ When they sleep in the same bed, or, in this case, in _almost_ the same bed, they hold hands.

Tony is silent, watching as Pepper’s face relaxes, the lines on her forehead fade, her lips part slightly. He does his best to sync his breathing to hers, keeping his grip on her hand loose, not wanting to cause her even the slightest discomfort as she sleeps. Still, he can’t help himself, he does it every time, once he’s certain that she’s asleep. Carefully, with the faintest hint of pressure, he squeezes her hand three times. _I love you._

Ritual complete, he closes his eyes, seeing the fluorescent numbers of his blood analyzer on the backs of his eyelids. 12% toxicity. It had been 9% three days ago. A percentage point a day. Six months to live is seeming more like a desperate dream than a resigned reality.

Tony swallows thickly, trying to ignore the way that his heart has started to race. He really doesn’t want to have a panic attack on the floor of Pepper’s bedroom. If he wasn’t worried about waking her, he would go to his bag and search for the little Ziploc bag of Xanax he takes with him on overnight trips, though it probably wouldn’t be the best playmate for the handful of Vicodin in his stomach. Perhaps dying of an overdose on Pepper’s bedroom floor is worse than having a panic attack.

And then, just when he starts to feel like he can’t breathe, his free hand raising to claw at the neck of his shirt, Pepper’s hand squeezes his — once, twice, three times — and then four. _I love you too._

Tony’s head jerks to the left, eyes ranging over her face, searching for any hint of her being awake, but she doesn’t even twitch. His thumb brushes over the backs of her knuckles slowly, Pepper sighs and smiles slightly in her sleep, shifting closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him. He won’t get much sleep tonight and he’ll be gone before she gets out of bed. But, tonight at least, he can watch her sleep and pretend that they are sharing a bed, that she does love him, and that he isn’t dying.

**Author's Note:**

> bill and elizabeth potts keep finding their way into my fics no matter what i do sooo while i work on the sequel to sapphire secrets i decided to post this. i wrote it a few months ago and thought i'd never put it up but then... it's cute. and sad. so here it is! hope you enjoyed. also YES I MADE THEIR MISTLETOE KISS CANON IN MY VERSION OF CANON LMAO. i can't be stopped.


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